


Paradigm of Awkwardness

by vtn



Category: Canadian Music RPF, Matthew Good Band, Sloan (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-10
Updated: 2007-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtn/pseuds/vtn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Matt wishes he could just relax.  But it's never that easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradigm of Awkwardness

Chris is reading off a piece of paper in the tour bus: "Her name was Jenny and she liked to win contests. The American county fair was her dream. It was her Hollywood. It was her—"

"Her name was Jenny?" Matt raises his head from the sofa he's been dozing on. "What did she look like?"

Chris laughs uncomfortably. "Half-Brazilian…tall…black hair down her back…. Why, do you need a better mental image? She's a, uh, a fictional character, she's not really based on anyone real or anything." He scrubs a hand over his hair. Matt watches the ringlets on the end pass over his dirty fingernails and it's like watching a train wreck.

"Never mind." Matt buries his face in the arm of the sofa. "I kind of wish I'd never been born right now," he says but it comes out like "hmmbmfmgrngow," for which he duly thanks the sofa arm.

"Why are you on our bus anyway?" Chris says, folding his arms.

"It's a nice bus; I don't see why he can't just sleep on our sofa for a while." That has to be Jay in the background—the little one who had on a red sweatshirt when Matt last saw him.

"I'm just curious. I'm sorry. He can sleep here if he wants to. Whatever. I'm sorry."

Matt laughs to himself from where he's pressed into the sofa, leaving the fabric a little warm and damp under his lips.

"Do you think you could leave us alone for a while?" Chris asks. "If it isn't too much trouble."

"Nooooo problem," says Jay, and Matt can hear a cheeky smile in his tone. "Talk to me later when you're feeling up for it, though." The sound of footsteps is Jay leaving.

Matt realizes he's tensed up his body and relaxes, his knees bobbing up and down on the cushion. He wonders what it would be like if he suddenly told Chris how much he wishes Chris would just climb on top of him on the sofa and take his clothes off. It might do him just as much good, he thinks, if he pondered picking up the sofa and smashing his head under it. He thinks about the way it would feel when his teeth cracked under the leg of the sofa and cringes.

"Are you okay?" Chris says. Matt peers up and sees that Chris is still standing on the other side of the room. He doesn't say anything.

"Okay, trying this conversation again," Chris continues. "How come you're on our bus?"

"It was cold out," says Matt. He then recalls it's around twenty-five, so he switches gears. "My dog ate it." He watches Chris's eyelids as they blink like clockwork.

"Are you okay?" Chris asks again. Matt thinks about his teeth cracking again and scrambles up, gritting his teeth and sitting stark upright on the sofa.

"I'm fine," he mumbles. He's decidedly not fine. Why did Chris have to—"No! I mean, no, I'm not. I'm not fine. Why did you make Jay leave?"

"I dunno," Chris mutters. He starts pacing around the room and Matt sits still like a scarecrow. He wonders if how scarecrows work is that the birds see a rotting dead guy in the middle of the field with a stick rammed up his ass and think that's what's going to happen to them.

"I wanted to talk to you and Jay told me to wait here," Matt says and he hears the words come out much louder than they sounded in his head. He bites down on his lip.

"To me?" Chris stops pacing, looks Matt in the eye. "What is this about?"

"You!" says Matt, his heart ramming him in the chest like it's trying to invade his rib cage. "I like you." _I like you? What the hell was that, 'I like you'? Are we five again?_ "I mean, no. I mean I—you—and I thought you were—I mean I thought we—okay. I like you."

"You like me?" Chris walks closer to the couch. He sits down on the end across from Matt like it's some sort of contest to see who can sit up more ramrod-straight. His fingernails are still dirty, and Matt frowns. Debating whether to tell Chris to wash his hands and that bacteria can grow under his fingernails, he opens his mouth, but Chris cuts him off. "Can I try an experiment? If it doesn't work we can pretend it never happened; you can do that, right? Just like—like it's a clean slate again. What is it they call it in Latin, a something _rasa_."

" _Tabula rasa_ ," Matt says softly, and then, "Okay," and he's saying it into Chris's face because he's leaning forward now, two inches from Chris's lips. "Okay," he says again, and Chris kisses him.

At first Matt's hands don't move, but then he slides one into Chris's hair, finding it greasy and tangled under his fingers. Suddenly he doesn't care, so after a quick pull back for breath he kisses Chris harder, his other hand on Chris's waist. Chris pulls one of Matt's legs up and behind him, and Matt takes the invitation to move his other leg, straddling Chris's skinny hips.

"God, how stupid is this?" Matt says softly, speaking against Chris's lips.

"It's not!" A blush spreads over Chris's cheeks. "It's not stupid. I'm sorry for getting all defensive. You just mean something to me. You could, anyway."

Matt laughs out loud then. "This is actually pretty fucking hilarious." His voice sounds strange to him, like the words aren't his own, but he likes the feeling. "Why don't we actually just have sex?"

Chris nods emphatically, looping his arms around Matt's back and pulling them closer together. Then he frowns.

"Tell me it isn't stupid, first," he says.

"It isn't stupid," says Matt, grinning. "It's really _good_ , actually." He kisses Chris again.


End file.
